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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27197869">i’m a money symbol</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachyteabuck/pseuds/peachyteabuck'>peachyteabuck</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Knives Out (2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Cock Cages, Degradation, F/M, Findom, Oral Sex, finsub</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 17:09:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,651</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27197869</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachyteabuck/pseuds/peachyteabuck</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>when ransom finds out he’s been cut from the will, there’s a different reason he flies into a murderous rage</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ransom Drysdale/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>i’m a money symbol</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ransom stares at you with eyes that rival that of pleading puppies - large and watery and a deep, deep blue. His clean-shaved face, tear-stained and reddened from the sobs that still riddle his body, is equally as pathetic.</p><p>“I-I promise I-I can pay you s-”</p><p>You cut him off with the raise of a single sculpted eyebrow, looking down at him as he falls to his knees - body folded and hands clasped together like a fervent believer praying for forgiveness after committing some heinous sin, or a servant begging their superior to let them keep their lowly position. Either analogy seems fitting given the circumstances, given his lack of inheritance and the slowly declining numbers in his bank account.</p><p>“One thing,” you hiss, lifting one of your expensive Louboutin heels so that it presses into the base of his neck, forcing his body into an even more unnatural position. He groans just a little at the pain - ass (and much more of him, probably) still sore from last night’s session. You ignore him. “I ask for one thing. It’s not hard. In fact, it was the one thing you could do quite well. Any now, what, you have none?”</p><p>Ransom gulps, nearly out of breath. “I-I have money it’s just that I-, I’m cut off right now I sw-”</p><p>The pointed heel presses further, his legs spreading underneath him to make room as his nose nearly touches the recently cleaned red oak flooring.</p><p>“Shut the <em>fuck</em> up,” you hiss, practically spitting as you glare down at him. “Only good little boys who pay me to <em>earn</em> the right to speak to me are allowed to blubber like children.”</p><p>He whimpers as the sharp pain from your expensive shoe merges with the clumsy position of his limbs to settle in his blood – his whole body screaming like a banshee as his cock strains in his years-old designer skinny jeans.</p><p>“The worst part is,” you sigh, watching his muscles strain just as heat settles in your stomach. Slowly, but surely, it moves to your core. “I was looking forward to seeing you again. Can you imagine such a thing? <em>Me</em>, <em>looking forward</em> to seeing one of you stupid little pay pigs…”</p><p>A dry laugh fills the air that sense another wave of arousal through his nervous system, his muscles and brain screaming at him to <em>get up and walk the Hell out of there</em> while his cock pleads with him to stay in place.</p><p>“Now get naked,” you sigh, swishing the sweet cocktail in one of the glasses monogrammed with your initials you had gotten as a gift (again, <em>not</em> from Ransom) last year. “I know of a way you can be of use to me.”</p><p>Immediately he strips, your gaze heated and targeted as he peels that damned sweater he refuses to replace from his toned body. He sucks in a sharp breath as the air – cool despite the roaring fire – hits his bare skin, goosebumps erupting all over as he shivers under your heated gaze.</p><p>It’s amusing, to say the least, to watch his clothes hit the floor, kicked aside as if they were something worse than trash despite their designer tags. <em>Money means nothing to Ransom Drysdale-Thrombey if it’s not being spent on you</em>.</p><p>Without preamble, you kick him with a single heeled foot so that he’s knocked to his knees, hands strained at his sides as he desperately attempts to obey the rules that accompany punishments. As his eyes screw shut in pain, you take the few seconds to grab the worst thing you keep in the drawer of the small table next to your plush, deep purple velvet armchair. It’s the thing Ransom hates the most in this world – even more than his family or their stupid maid or being broke or even disappointing you.</p><p>Just as his eyes open, you lean down to lock his cock in the pink plastic cage with a wince-inducing <em>click</em>, depositing the key in the space between your chest and the baby pink fabric of your bralette. It’s simple, mostly sheer with embroidered flowers spanning over the length of each breast while barely concealing your hardened nipples. The matching panties show off your tummy and thighs – cutting you in just the right places so that you look even more heavenly than usual.</p><p>“<em>Fu-uck</em>,” he moans when he realizes what’s happened, what <em>you’ve done to him</em>. It’s almost cute in how pathetic it is, the sound he makes and the precum that gathers at the tip and how his stomach tightens with each breath. It’s cute how pathetic he is – how his face scrunches up and he bites his lips until they’re beautiful and plump. Ransom Drysdale-Thrombey may be a chauvinist asshole with an ego bigger than his trust fund (or, what he trust fund <em>used</em> to be), but <em>damn</em> can he be so pretty it hurts.</p><p>“Down,” is all you say, giving him a small <em>hmm</em> as he falls to all fours. His eyes remain focused on the ground as you haven’t given him permission to keep anything else in his eyeline. He doesn’t need to be told to keep his back straight, body barely flinching as you sit back down and plant your feet in the center of his spine, your authentic red bottoms a beautiful contrast to his milky skin.</p><p>“You like my shoes, baby?” you ask, rolling them back in forth against the ridges of his spine. “You got them for me when you had money—you weren’t as useless then…”</p><p>Ransom’s back is parallel to the plush white throw you’d placed on the ground for him, his palms, knees, and the front of his feet warming the fur as you rest your own feet in the center of his spine. He can’t see you as he faces your fireplace, doesn’t have the pleasure of watching you as you talk with other clients - other men with millions, maybe even billions more than him not only in their bank accounts, but in their futures. Your long acrylic nails, ones it pains him to think he didn’t pay for, <em>taptaptap</em> against your phone screen as messages are typed. Judging by the <em>click</em> he hears every so often (in combination with your shifting in your seat) Ransom assumes you’re also taking photos – but whether they’re of you to send to customers or of him to use as blackmail, he may never know.</p><p>It’s painful in a plethora of ways – but the playboy can’t tell if the pit in his chest, the aching of his cock, or the sharp pain in his back hurts worse. None of these things improve with time, either, the hours marked by glasses of champagned downed and Venmo transfers made.</p><p>The only thing that makes it better is the familiar sound of your phone being locked and placed in the side table screen-down before your feet are planted back on the floor with two sharp <em>clacks</em>. Sounds that would normally make Ransom’s cock jump if not for the plastic that was locked around him.</p><p>“Get in position, you useless slut,” you hiss, your hand flying to this throat so you could squeeze a warning against his skin. “You’re going to pleasure me until I say you can stop.”</p><p>Ransom gulps, his eyes wide with fear and pupils blown from lust. He gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing in a way that reminds you of when he deepthroats one of your many, <em>many</em> straps, and bows his head in submission. “Y-yes Mistress,” he moans deep, his eyes fluttering shut as the sheer <em>memory</em> of your dripping cunt floods his mind. It’s been so long – <em>too</em> long – since he’s been with you, been inside you; and he’s desperate as you push your panties to the side to reveal your soaked lips.</p><p>Ransom waits for your nod of approval before he launches himself forward, placing wet kisses wherever he can reach. You’re sensitive already, little gasps falling past your lips when he takes your clit between his teeth and <em>sucks</em>.</p><p>You don’t do a lot of sex work that involves service clients – it’s exhausting, to say the least, requires a lot of set up and take down and the like. For a long while you did no contact work, but it was a few clients – Ransom included – that convinced you to break into it.</p><p>And, <em>fuck</em> does he make all the work worth it. His fingers slide into you with confidence and expertise, finding that special spot inside of you with ease, groaning into your dripping cunt each time you cry out his name.</p><p>“<em>Jesus</em>, baby boy,” you cry out between guttural moans. “You’re so fucking good for your Mistress aren’t you?”</p><p>He nods, flatting his tongue as his face moves up and down and <em>that-</em></p><p><em>That</em> is what breaks you.</p><p>You come on his face as your thighs nearly choke him – his hands digging into the insides of your thighs. Ransom himself can’t tell if he’s trying to pull him apart – desperate for air as his whole body goes cold from lack of oxygen – or if his arms holding them in place so he has the honor to die while experiencing pure euphoria. As your pussy pulses on his tongue Ransom wonders if he’s already passed over, if Heaven is the space between your legs and why he’s been allowed there despite his many, <em>many</em> sins.</p><p>It doesn’t take long before his movements slow for a moment, causing you to groan in frustration before grabbing his previously-impeccably styled hair.</p><p>“<em>Did I tell you to stop, slut?”</em></p><p>He gives you a small whine before shaking his head, eyes large and jaw soaked.</p><p>You smile at his obedience. “Then get down there and <em>eat me out until I’m crying</em>.”</p><p>Ransom smiles before moving his head back down, returning to his position below you.</p><p><em>God</em>, you think. <em>This really is the best job ever.</em></p>
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